Hermione Weasley 2:
The Case of The Fat Duck Thief
Hermione would like to eat,
if business would stop intruding.

Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer.

"You'd think the Muggles would have designed a crime-solving computer by now," said Detective Morgan Bartholomew, pouring more wine for his guests.

Morgan was repaying Hermione for helping him to solve the Kalahari Diamond case. The reward: taking her and Ron to a posh dinner at the Fat Duck in London.

"Unfortunately, we'd have to tell any such computer about magic folk," said Hermione, sipping her Château Apocalypse, vintage 2012. "Wizards devise such strange criminal plots. Right, Morgan?"

"True. I'd be a sad detective if I didn't have a background as a wizard thief myself. Life experience pays off."

"You must get some unusual Muggle thieves, though. Tell us a Muggle story."

"Oh, I suppose the Romanian jewel thief was the weirdest; he ended his own crimnal career. This fellow snatches an expensive necklace in Bucharest. The poliţia search high and low, but he gets away neatly. No one can find him until, a week later, he turns up dead here, on an old lady's doorstep in Henslow. He's busted up really badly, and the necklace is missing, so the detectives figure he's been done in by one of his own kind. Then, the autopsy comes back, and they declare it a misadventure. Want to solve it?"

"Hm, busted up, but a misadventure... hit by a lorry, maybe. What did the autopsy say?"

"Get this: the cause of death was hypothermia — he froze to death! And considering that this was July in southern England, that's rather unusual, eh?"

"Hm. There has to be a perfectly logical explanation, Morgan, but it escapes me at the moment."

"Well, Henslow is the best clue, but you might not know where that is. The poor fellow's chosen method of escape was an old favourite of refugees: he hid in the wheel well of a British Airways jet! Right comfortable at first, I'm told, but it gets mighty cold up high, and he died enroute. The corpse slid out over Henslow, just short of touchdown on 27 Left at Heathrow. He went all to pieces when the lady's rooftop got in the way, and bounced into her hydrangea. As for the necklace, who knows."

"Try this one, Hermione!" said Ron. "We took a report at Diagon Alley late this afternoon. A guy walks in the doorway at Gringotts, waves a Muggle pistol with two shaky hands, and announces a holdup. Now, what's his chances of getting out of Gringotts with anything?"

"No chance at all," she replied.

"Exactly. Everyone calmly whips out a wand and aims it at this fool, but doesn't want to hurt him, figuring the poor guy's a few knuts short of a galleon to even think about robbing Gringotts. He holds fire, and they hold fire. Finally, this one goblin, a new bank teller, takes out his wand and solves the standoff in the right way. How?"

"A new teller? I could hazard a guess, but I wouldn't want to spoil your story if I'm right."

"Nah, this is for you. Spoil it if you can."

"Oh, you're sweet, hon. Okay. Fortunately, the goblins are as sharp at magic as any Hogwarts student."

"Yeah. And?"

"So the goblin thinks about it, trying to find something funny about the whole incident…"

"Aw, you're too good at this."

"Well, you said it was a new teller! I reckon he was unnecessarily nervous about the possibility of being held up."

Ron sat back, laughing. "All right, genius, drop the other shoe."

"So, he casts a Riddiculus spell and changes the gun into… oh, I don't know, a golf club or something."

"Close enough; you got the gist of it. Sure enough, his own fear had attracted a boggart. He charmed it into a baby waving a sugar quill. The guards took it from there."

"Excellent," said Morgan. "So, tell us about one of your nabs, Hermione."

"Let me think of a good one… oh, wait. Here's our food for thought." Their entrees were served. "For what we are about to eat," intoned Hermione, "and the fact that it's fabulously expensive, but Morgan's paying for it, let us be thankful." They prepared to tuck in, and were promptly interrupted.

"Immobolus!" shouted a man's voice, and the whole restaurant fell silent except for the low chamber-music CD playing in the background. There was no clinking of silverware, small talk, or even the swish of a napkin. A wand-wielding man entered the room, and carefully looked around to be sure his charm had worked on everyone. He wasn't disappointed. He started roaming the room, looking for valuables to make his evening worthwhile.

Hermione, who had spent months in the grip of petrification once, was very uncomfortable. Like a good magician, she quickly assessed her defenses — and came up with nothing. She couldn't reach for her wand; she couldn't crawl out of the room; she couldn't do much of anything. What's left? she thought. Wandless, wordless magic. What can I do that doesn't need movement, or vocalising, but can help us get out of this? Offhand, she could only think of one…

So, when the thief turned away to go through the purse of a wealthy socialite, she disappeared in thin air.

She reapparated on a comfy chair at Heron's Nest, but all was silent on the home front. Molly had put Hugo and Rose to bed already, and gone home.

All right, I'm out of the restaurant. So far, so good. Now, how do I get their attention?

Sorry about this, Rosie. She reapparated to Rose's bed… and, still in a seated position, on top of Rose.

Rose, startled, turned over. Hermione was caught off-balance. Oh dear, she thought, this is going to smart, and she crashed to the floor.

Rose grabbed her wand and lit the room. "Mum! Are you okay?"

Unable to answer, Hermione reapparated to a chair, so Rose would get the idea. That didn't work well; having been horizontal on the floor, she was now horizontal across the arms of the little chair. It tipped, and she fell to the floor again. Owww! Come on, Rose, please figure it out before I kill myself!

"A-are you apparating?"

Yes, yes! Good girl! Keep going!

"Why are you so stiff? Dad? DAAAD!"

Her shouts brought no one except Hugo. A quick search of the house found no Ron. They returned to their mother's side.

"She's still dressed for London," noted Rose. "Did she apparate here from the restaurant? Maybe she's sick from dinner."

"Or maybe she's petrified again," feared Hugo. "Did she see another basilisk?"

You're almost there! Think, kids!

"Not this time," said Rose. "She has a pulse. What's that other thing, the curse to make you stand still?"

It doesn't matter what the name is! Just undo it! You know how!

"Oh, whatever. Finire incantatum!"

The tenseness went out of Hermione's body, but for a moment, she moved very slowly. "Ow," she said quietly, a great understatement.

"Are you all right, Mum?"

"As well as I can be, thanks. I'm too old to be falling off furniture twice in one night. Pardon me, now, but I have to go. My dinner's getting cold."

"Huh?"

"I'll explain it all in the morning, kiddies. Everything's fine, and sorry for waking you. Rose, get Hugo back to bed, then you too. I want Gran to find you two asleep when she pops back. Ta." She disapparated…

...to the Burrow, where Molly was sitting in a comfy chair with Purrity the cat in her lap, while Arthur stoked the fire. Hermione quickly explained the situation, and asked Molly to bring a gentle sleep potion on her next scheduled bed-check, in case it was needed. Then, she...

…returned to the lobby of the Fat Duck. She latched the outer door, took off her noisy shoes and silently tiptoed to the dining room. There she found her target, still merrily going through the pockets of his first victim, and she returned the favour of an Immobolus. He froze in mid-pilfer.

Now she could relax. She put her shoes on and calmly walked up to the thief. Smiling, she waved in his face. "Hi! I'm Hermione Weasley, and I'll be your nemesis tonight. Bad luck, old boy, but guess who's dining at table three? A Scotland Yard detective, an Auror and a Magical Law Enforcement official! So, you're very much under arrest. If you need anything, just whistle. Thanks for choosing the Fat Duck, and have a nice evening." She strode to her table and sat, breathed a long sigh of relief, took a sip of her wine and began cutting her entree, stopping only to unstiffen Ron and Morgan.

"Good Lord, Hermione!" laughed Morgan. "All I asked was that you tell us a story, not act it out!"

"How was I, boys? I didn't have time to read the script."

"Spot on," said Ron. "A little melodramatic with that speech. Where did you go?"

"Home. Just checking up on the tykes. It's a mum thing. Let's eat. I'm starved."

"But what about the thief, and all these people?"

"They can wait. I'm not going to let him spoil my free meal. Umm! My venison is perfect, absolutely perfect!"

"I wish I could eat," muttered Morgan. "but we're in the Muggle world, and I have a situation to sort out here."

"Not really, Morgan. He only managed to rob one lady, so you don't have to involve the Muggles in sorting out who owns what. If you feel the urge to do something, be an angel and check the kitchen. See if any food's burning, then enjoy your supper."

"Oo, good idea, old girl." Morgan immediately went for the kitchen door. "We wouldn't want the fire brigade interrupting. Back in a sec."

Ron stood as well. "Actually, it's my shop we need. I have to get a Obliviator crew here to cloud everybody's mind."

"Well, then, go fetch them, hon, but get back quickly, so you can eat while it's hot. We might have to skip the afters tonight. Once everyone's back to normal, they're all going to complain about cold food and slow service."

Morgan returned as Ron disapparated. "I shut them down," he chuckled. "There goes the Fat Duck's Michelin rating. Which one of you gets the thief?"

"Ron and I have an agreement," said Hermione. "Dark wizards are his, dork wizards are mine. It's definitely my nab tonight; misuse of magic, unclever and sloppy. I wonder if he was going to give us a new memory of where all our valuables went, or simply obliviate us? Oh, well. Are you going to finish that cauliflower?"